


Dare Not Speak Its Name

by Dusty



Series: Conversations In The Car [11]
Category: James Bond (Craig movies), James Bond (Movies), Skyfall (2012) - Fandom
Genre: Angst, Dom/sub, F/M, PTSD, Sexual Content, Snark
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-24
Updated: 2013-02-27
Packaged: 2017-12-03 13:04:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,429
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/698561
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dusty/pseuds/Dusty
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Neither of them knew how they would feel when he came back.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Her Night

It was the night of the bloody Spring Ball. It was always a pain. She’d go to keep up appearances, stare down the junior recruits, exchange pleasantries, pretend to be drinking the deadly alcoholic punch when in fact it was just juice, then come across as lucid and relaxed before scuttling back to the comfort of her office and getting back to work, usually with a little extra bark for being inconvenienced.

But this time it was all appearances. There was to be a presentation; ‘a little something’ in gratitude for her years of service. She thought about turning it down or insisting she was out of town, but Mallory and his beady eyes had seen straight through her initial reluctance, and he’d got her to commit. She’d have to give a little speech, no doubt, all magisterial and dignified, in the face of a service still mourning its colleagues.

Without her armour, her work, she felt utterly naked. She was just an old lady to them now, albeit one with the title of Dame Grand Cross, but she still felt she was fading away out of existence. She could no longer make a contribution or an impact. There was a bad taste in her mouth as she felt sure her greatest impact, for most of the people there tonight, was leading a terrorist straight to their door.

She shook herself out of her heavy thoughts, surprised at where they’d come from. She’d been having a wonderful time these past few weeks, retirement affording her unexpected diversions, but this event was a challenge she could live without. And here she was, standing in front of the mirror, elegant as you please. She thought she’d done a rather nice job; make up, hair, and her very favourite black velvet ball gown with the plunging neck line.

She eyed her reflection suspiciously. Was she in fact glowing? If one of her agents turned up looking like this she’d grill them for hours on what they were up to. She thanked her lucky stars that no one would dare ask her, though for a moment it occurred to her that someone might put two and two together. But no. He’d been out of the country for over a month now.

She graced her hand over her necklace, the glinting pendant trickling into her compelling cleavage. _After all this time_ , she pondered. _I’m just a girl in front of a mirror, trying to make an impact with my tits._

She experienced a sudden and discombobulating mixture of relief, disgust and amusement before slotting her shoes on her feet and fetching her coat. The taxi outside sounded its horn to alert her, and off she went.

It was raining. Naturally. Outside the taxi window, London became a fragmented, soggy impressionist painting; towers, bridges and lights seeming to melt and slur against the glass. That’s when she thought of him again. She’d been lucky, she thought, that Bond hadn’t been too much on her mind. And God knows where he was now. It occurred to her that if he were attending the ball, he would spend the whole night being deeply sarcastic about her ‘little something’. Yes, she would miss that tonight. Instead she’d be surrounded by people taking it desperately seriously.

She frowned as she realised that she’d somehow inched towards Bond’s end of the spectrum when it came to taking things seriously. “Fuck it,” she muttered.

\---

The taxi pulled up outside the hotel.

The SIS had as usual spared no expense in seducing its employees and associates with exquisite champagnes and wines. A touching quintet played delicately in one corner of the elaborate hotel ballroom, while an exotic spread occupied the guests as they looked to busy themselves with food rather than endure awkward pleasantries.

Men and women of various ages and ethnicities milled about self-consciously on the main floor. Above them, one or two shadows observed the room from the vantage of a mezzanine; which ran around the ornate hall like an opera balcony. In sharp contrast to their junior counterparts, these employees stood unnervingly still, sipping their drinks, watchful of the interactions beneath them.

It was a circus of formality; the room divided into those eager to know everyone, and those desperate to avoid everyone. Olivia Mansfield was always in the latter category, but this evening, neither party sounded like a desirable prospect.

Mallory crossed the room towards her and she was almost pleased to see him.

“Ma’am,” he said, courteous as ever.

“M.” She smiled kindly, though perhaps not convincingly.

He looked about the room. “I know,” he said. “It will warm up.”

She chuckled. He clearly felt the same way, and by some miracle, an easy conversation began.

\---

It was, as she’d predicted, tedious beyond belief. Mallory had given her a sterling introduction that she desperately wanted to believe was genuine, but she couldn’t help but feel he’d made an already sweet gesture overly saccharine. They all knew she was no saint, and now he was talking about her as if she’d singlehandedly restored the Empire.

She wasn’t prepared for the warmth of applause, however, and failed to entirely block it out of her heart as she accepted the token of their appreciation, a Darwin first edition, and a huge bouquet of flowers. She couldn’t remember anything she said, so surprised she was by the genuine smiles of the people in front of her as she spoke, but leaving that podium and being led away by Mallory, she allowed herself to feel lighter, and perhaps not altogether corrupt.

“I’ll take those for you, Ma’am, and have them delivered to your house,” said Tanner with a grin.

“Thank you, Mr Tanner,” she said smoothly, handing him her gifts and walking alongside Mallory. Aware that she was being eyed enthusiastic intelligence officers, she kept smiling, but with just one glance at Mallory he nodded and led her from the madding crowd. The music resumed over the other side of the room, and people returned to their distractions.

Two retired officers she recognised politely raised their glasses at her, then returned to their conversations. Mallory handed her a glass of champagne.

“Olivia,” he said softly.

She started at the use of her name and Mallory smiled sheepishly. “Forgive me,” he said. “I can’t very well call you M.”

“Well after all of that you can call me ‘Your Highness’,” she quipped with a sly smile.

He simply looked at her, and she refused to look away. There was a depth in his eyes that frightened her.

“Where is he?” she asked before she knew she was going to.

He frowned faintly, a sigh of disappointment barely discernible. “OO7? Alive and well, if that’s what’s worrying you.” He said it in his perfect clipped accent, eyes darting about the room. “But you know I can’t tell you where or what, so you mustn’t ask,” he added quietly but severely.

“I know,” she said, colouring slightly, memories of the headmaster’s office coming back to her. _Stuffy bastard_. She shifted on her feet and found her bravado. “Old habits and all that.”

Mallory said, “Of course. Hard to switch off.” He smiled thinly, remaining stern.

She did her level best to appear disinterested in her question and shrug it off. She took a sip of the champagne. “I only asked because you looked like you had something to tell me.”

“Hmm,” he replied. “Not really. He’s been behaving, doing excellent work in fact. He doesn’t check in as often as I’d like…”

She laughed, a little too loudly, but she was beyond caring. She took another sip and regarded Mallory fondly. “Perhaps I ought to give you some tips,” she said. Then more seriously, “And believe me, they’re devoid of sentiment.”

He chuckled. “They would be most welcome.”

From the balcony above, James Bond watched them expressionlessly.


	2. Lost and Found

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> James has returned from his mission, but not without scars.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bit dark, but they're working through it...

Suave yet somehow invisible, James stood in the shadow of a balcony arch. He’d watched impassively as she’d spoken. He’d felt how moved she was at the reaction of the room. He turned his tumbler in his hand, swilling the liquor before taking a good swig.

It hurt. Something hurt. He couldn’t quite place it. Usual bumps and lumps following a mission. It hadn’t been too traumatic, and for the most part he’d got away with just a token cut above his temple. Why did it have to be his face? The first thing she’d see. Her poor whipped puppy. He scowled at the room.

She looked exactly the same. Elegant, beautiful, professional, deadly. His eyes fell on her cleavage, of course. She clearly intended for that to happen.

He ground his teeth as he reminded himself she wouldn’t have known he would be there. So who was this for anyway? What the hell was she talking to Mallory about?

“ _Bitch_ ,” he spoke into his martini, then dissolved into a impish grin. He took a gulp and headed towards them.

\---

“Sir,” he said simply.

They were mid laugh when he appeared right in front of them. Her mouth fell open.

Mallory huffed. “OO7. We talked about this. You’re supposed to be recuperating.”

“What happened?” she demanded, forgetting herself for the second time that evening. It wasn’t the scratch on his face – she’d seen him a lot worse shape. It was his eyes. They nearly stopped her heart.

“I got into a fight with one of the bigger boys,” said James flippantly. “He stole my Action Man.”

She immediately came to her senses, James’ attitude triggering a familiar authority. “I’m sorry, Mall-- I mean, M. He’s your agent.”

“Yes he is,” said Mallory, gazing sternly at James.

James feigned nonchalance as both his boss and his former boss glowered at him. “Just thought I’d pop in.”

“You can ‘pop in’ tomorrow as scheduled, OO7,” Mallory informed him curtly. “I need you with a clear head.” He indicated the drink in James’ hand.

James shrugged. “It’s just the one,” he said churlishly.

He wasn’t looking directly at her, but she could tell his insolent little act was for her benefit. He was being a brat.

“I doubt that, Bond,” came Mallory’s warning tone. “We’ll talk about this during your debriefing tomorrow.”

It was an unavoidable tone of dismissal, but to James’ relief Mallory was being called away. “Ma’am,” said Mallory respectfully as he was pulled into an introduction with a co-worker’s spouse.

She acknowledged his goodbye with a nod, torn between pitying him and feeling smug that he was now having to manage the most insubordinate agent in the British Secret Service.

Just like that, she was alone with James. He was looking at the bottom of his glass and pouting gently, head bowed. He eventually peered at her through his eyelashes.

She took his glass out of his hand and placed it on a nearby table along with her champagne flute.

“Follow me,” she said dangerously, eyes smouldering at him.

He hung his head and followed.

They went through a couple of doors and the sounds of the ball faded away. She was leading him down a dark, quiet corridor that appeared to service a cluster of conference rooms, all apparently empty for the night. He didn’t know where this was going, but he didn’t care. He trusted her to take care of him. He trembled inside nonetheless.

She tried one of the doors at the far end of the corridor, and it swung open. She stood waiting for James to pass by her into the room. As he did so, she gave him a little shove, and followed him in, closing the door firmly.

His eyes were smoky. He simply gazed at her, sullen as anything. She’d seen it before, a wilful and obstinate front that he assumed when he knew he’d done wrong, but would rather be whipped than admit it. But there was something else. His eyes looked truly haunted.

She took a deep breath. “You can’t tell me about it. I know that.”

He took a step in towards her, his posture aggressive, but cocked his head coyly. “I’m not interested in talking.”

“Stop it,” she said, voice full of authority.

He didn’t flinch. Instead he stepped in closer towards her, eyes penetrating. Here he was, her dangerous young man.

She realised her heart was racing. She mustered all of her stoicism. “Bond, I’m telling you, as the former head of MI6, _cut the crap_. Now.”

He shifted back slightly with a sulky sigh and frowned at the floor, saying nothing.

Ignoring her pounding pulse, she stood her ground. “Tough mission?”

“Yeah,” he mumbled, not taking his eyes off the ground.

“Over now?”

“Yeah.”

“So that’s what Mallory meant,” she surmised. “You’re clearly shell shocked. You need some time to come down.”

He met her eyes and said, “I’m fine. I know exactly what I want.”

“I bet you do,” she said.

His eyes gleamed at her. Anger was coming off him in waves, anger he’d brought home with him.

“You’re a fool to defy Mallory,” she scolded. “He thinks highly of your work but he won’t tolerate your attitude. Do you actually want to be transferred? Do you have some secret desire to leave the field?”

“ _You wish_ ,” he baited.

She clenched her jaw and stepped in closer to him. “You really are asking for it, aren’t you?”

He closed the gap between them with an insolent swagger. “Begging,’ he breathed.

She was aware of her chest rising and falling, his hot breath on her neck, her pulse throbbing in her ears. He was leaning into her. And then his mouth was on hers.

Many things went through her mind as his tongue obscenely lashed the inside of her mouth, and she simply rolled her head back to accommodate him. Firstly, he was behaving so badly she burned with the desire to punish him. That made her grip his hips and pull him flush against her. Secondly, she was at a SIS ball, copping off with a boy as if it were a school dance. That latter thought made her vagina throb. She was just as bad as him. That thought made her kiss him back with equal vigour. Thirdly…

She didn’t get that far, because he pushed her back against a wall and his fingers thrust between her legs, roughly starting to rub her. Her mind went blank for a moment, while he moved his mouth down to her cleavage, sucking and licking any flesh he could access. She gasped, quite stunned by his wild ministrations, and the next thing she knew he grasped her left breast and retrieved it from inside her dress. His mouth was suddenly on her nipple.

She cried out so loudly she quickly covered her mouth with her hand, but it also broke the spell as she remembered where she was. He was nuzzling and suckling her breast. Her pussy pulsed but her head ached. She grabbed his shoulders.

“Stop. Now,” she said breathlessly. With pure defiance he moved back to her mouth, tongue plunging in a bruising kiss. She kicked him in the shin and he moved off enough for her to swing… and she slapped his face.

He stood, panting, red faced, his hand on his assaulted cheek with surprise. It wasn’t hard, just enough to stop him.

Her eyes flashed at him. “What’s the matter, James? No pussy where you were?”

“No pussy of consequence,” he answered. It was meant to rile her, but his detached antics with disposable girls really didn’t bother her. She was almost surprised by that, but it made him _him_. And she liked that. The alternative would be concerning.

Besides, he was most definitely bluffing, desperate to provoke her discipline. She softened inside; he’d clearly been to hell and back and was now craving stability and safety, begging her to control him.

“You really are getting yourself into trouble,” she said evenly. “I know what you’re doing.”

He was still breathing hard, cheeks flushed. He smiled and slowly advanced on her again, backing her into the wall once more. “Do you?”

“James,” she warned. “Behave.”

“What are you doing to do?” he rasped. “What are you going to do to me if I misbehave?”

She was losing her grip and she knew it. He was so beautiful, so deliciously out of line. She knew she could stop him if she had to, but now she couldn’t remember why she would want to.

He must have seen it in her eyes, because he was on her again, rutting mindlessly against her, kissing her neck. She felt him hard on her hip and moaned into him. But he was barely in control.

“Go on.” He panted as he dry humped her. “Stop me. You’re only person who can stop me.”

He was groaning, lost in lust and need. And he was counting on her.

For the second time, she clutched his shoulders firmly. His movements calmed with some effort.

“Kneel,” she said, using all her resolve. He did, his knees almost buckling. He quivered as he looked up at her.

“It’s okay,” she said softly. With her eyes fixed on him, she hitched up the material of her dress, and ushered him in closer, before firmly planting his mouth on her sex. He acted immediately, licking her through her knickers, his hands securely on her hips. Her skirts in one hand and his head in the other, she slumped back against the wall and let his tongue work its magic.

She couldn’t be quiet. For a moment, she found herself praying there wasn’t CCTV in this particular room, but very quickly she didn’t care at all. Her hand was gentle in his hair, even as every nerve was crackling, and every cell of her body remembered what he could do to her.

"It's okay," she said again. "You're home now."

Her words gave way to gasps as he worked more urgently. She was nearly there so very fast, her underwear as wet as his mouth and spreading the warmth everywhere she needed it, his clever tongue darting all around. She dimly noticed one of his hands had gone to his own crotch but could hardly blame him. She rutted helplessly, swayed by his own jerking movements as he palmed himself through his trousers.

He whimpered into her as she climaxed with a wail, feeling her body pulse in waves. With a grunt, he came thoroughly in a rush of wet heat and capsized bonelessly underneath her. She gradually sank to the floor herself, curling up beside him, and laying her hand on his shoulder.

The room was silent and endless space seemed to surround them. Somewhere in the distance, the quintet played an allegro above a din of animated voices.  They lay on the floor together, the only movement being the rise and fall of their chests, and her light caress. She stayed like that until her body ached for her to move.

“James,” she murmured. “I think we ought to get out of here.”

He sat up, rubbing his eyes, groggy with satisfaction, all tension ebbed away. She sighed at the state of him, raising an eyebrow at the wet stain in his crotch.

He blinked and bit his lip, but her faint smile told him she didn’t altogether disapprove of this particular transgression. She was glowing as she sat there with him, her hair sticking up almost as much as his, he guessed.

“Sorry,” he whispered.

She beamed at him. “You will be,” she said sweetly. “Just you wait until I get you home.”


	3. Coming Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They try to reconnect in the only way they know how...

She made a quick call, requesting a car, and by virtue of already being at the back of the hotel they were able to slip out mostly unseen; Olivia collecting her coat from the cloakroom with a broad smile to onlookers and James stealing like a shadow into the waiting vehicle.

She climbed inside the car and he grinned sleepily at her. She merely glanced at him. They travelled in silence. He slumped in the seat while she remained acutely alert. Within minutes he was dozing; quiet and vulnerable and now her responsibility. He’d probably been awake for a couple of days, just to be macho, she thought.

His head lolled onto her shoulder as the car jogged them. She tensed – _if anyone saw them_ , but they were concealed by night and tinted windows, so she let him, the risk of it quite enticing. He breathed steadily against her. She allowed herself to behold him. Such a boyish face, and one so peaceful in sleep.  It melted her heart.

He woke up with a start when they pulled up outside the house and immediately sat up rigid. He looked at her, shocked. She stifled a laugh and gave him a ‘yes, you really were just snuggled up to me’ look, and swung the car door open.

He followed her into the house and she closed the door. He looked to her, but she wasn’t quite meeting his eyes.

“I think a shower is in order,” she said, hanging up her jacket.

“Thought you liked me all dirty,” he mumbled. “And soiled.”

She glared at him. He was doing it again; cheeky and sultry, but somehow so trusting. She grabbed him by the upper arm and pulled him through the house to her bathroom, and like a cross mother dealing with her son who has returned home filthy from playing in the mud, she began stripping him off his clothing and throwing it into a heap. He was totally pliant, loving every minute of it, his body language deeply submissive but eyes dancing.

She got him down to his underpants before swatting his behind. “Look what a mess you’ve made,” she scolded, removing the soggy briefs and propelling him towards the shower.

“In,” she said. “I’ll put all of this in the wash.”

“What about you?” he asked, voice thick.

She glared at him sternly, knowing he was going to try to be clever. “What about me?”

“We both know how wet your knickers are,” he said with a pointed smirk.

She reddened instantly, then leant forward and landed a stinging smack on his bare bottom. He yelped and she pushed him into the shower properly.

“There’s a hell of a lot more where that came from,” she warned him, disappearing with his bundle of clothes.

He started the shower and pouted into the spray.

\---

She stood in front of the mirror still appearing entirely presentable. Just hours ago, everything was neatly in place. She had everything under control. And now James Bond was in her shower. Delight spread through her as she listened to the sound of the water and sauntered through the house to her second bathroom.

When she had showered, she returned to the bedroom in her silk pyjamas to find James completely naked and on her bed, leaving nothing to the imagination. He was wide awake.

“It’s past your bedtime,” she said softly. “And put that away.”

“You stole my clothes,” came his petulant response.

“You can borrow something of mine if you prefer.”

He pouted and climbed under the covers, curling up in the foetal position. He opened his eyes to give her a quick scowl.

 _Why do I find difficult men so adorable_ , she pondered, climbing onto the bed and sitting close by him. He inched towards her a little, until it was possible for her to put her arm around him. She was starting to feel floaty with fatigue, her fingers softly rubbing his shoulder. But she noticed he was staring hard into space and his whole body had tensed.

The impetus to ask him what was wrong came and went several times. She knew he would tell her if he wanted to, but he seemed stuck somehow.

Finally, he spoke. “They told me you were dead,” he said, voice laden with pain. “They had me locked up for a little while. They knew about Silva, and what happened at Skyfall - really did their homework. They knew you meant something to me. So they used it to break me. And it almost worked.”

She didn’t respond, just listened with her heart in her throat.

He continued unemotionally. “I should be used to that sort of shit by now. But there was something in the way he said it. I believed him. I had no reason not to. He knew stuff…”

His breathed hitched and she froze. 

“Anyway, I killed the bastard,” he said, snuggling into the covers again.

She couldn’t find any words of any use. She was struck by the idea that she might have compromised his ability to cope in such situations, but reminded herself that this was James Bond, and she trusted him to deal with it. “Good boy,” she said in the end, her throat dry. She heard him huff with laughter, then saw he was looking up at her longingly. She scooted down in the bed and kissed him tenderly.

He responded passionately, shifting up the bed until she yielded beneath him; both seeking comfort. He was hard again, and she wasn’t tired anymore. There was less urgency now, and they were able to savour each moment.

He eventually broke off the kiss and looked at her. “I’m still not sure if this is just a dream, and everything they said was true,” he said bravely, eyes searching. “Maybe I’m still there and I’m hallucinating.” He stroked her soft, white hair. “Doesn’t seem real. I mean, how likely is it? That we would do this?”

She knew what he meant. He needed familiarity but here they both were on completely new territory. He was leaping from one mission to another.

“James,” she murmured. “You’re tired right now. You only just got back. Of course a part of you is still over there.” She was caressing him as she spoke. “Trust me to bring you back.”

“Always,” he said. His sincerity took her breath away for a moment.

“Good,” she said. She gave him a look of complete assurance and command. “Make love to me.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he said, before kissing her mouth, then her neck; speedily unfastening her pyjama top and nuzzling her chest.

She ran her hands up and down his torso. He was animated yet gentle with her, quite a different animal from earlier that evening. She started to feel like she was restoring his soul, but at that moment she couldn’t remember what she’d done with hers.

He tugged down her pyjama bottoms. “Ridiculous choice in clothing,” he grumbled.

“Oi!” she chided, but his mouth came back to hers and silenced her, tongue firm and attentive. She reached between them and clasped his erection, gently tugging at it. He groaned, and she wasn’t thinking about her soul anymore.

James reached for the bottle of lube, which had been loitering suggestively on the night stand. His raised his eyebrow at her.

“Shut up,” she said.

“Yes ma’am,” he replied, squeezing ample lube into his hand with a mischievous smile and deftly depositing it between her legs. It was cold and sudden, triggering a sexy squeak from her, but very quickly it turned into pure pleasure. She spread her legs and drew her knees up welcomingly.

He got into position and guided himself into her, his lips on her neck once more. She closed her eyes and let her head roll back. “No,” he said gently. “Look at me. Look at what I’m doing. Look at what you’re doing - what we shouldn’t be doing. You know it’s wrong, you think it’s foolish, so you look away.”

Resting on his elbows and staring deeply into her eyes, he punctuated each remark with a firm thrust. All she could do was breathe. She was trying to bring him into the moment, yet somehow, he’d turned the tables, and was coming for her.

He continued, “if you order me around like your house boy then it isn’t real, is it, Olivia?”

Anger flashed into her eyes, but he continued the slow, rhythmic thrusts into her. “I like it,” he said. “Love it, actually. But there’s more to us than that. This isn’t just a game.”

They were panting lightly, just the soft slapping noises of their movements emphasising the silence.

“Are you proposing marriage?” she asked sardonically.

“No,” he answered, maintaining his rhythm. “I’m proposing that you keep your eyes open, so that when I give you what I can, you damn well notice.” He thrust hard and deep, and she arched against him, her body winning over her mind yet again.

He was relentless. “And don’t look away in shame, like I’m some distasteful addiction.”

Annoyance bubbled up inside her. She didn’t open her legs to him in order to receive a lecture. “Get off!” she demanded sharply. He did, immediately, rolling onto his back, waiting for her to either walk out the room or tell him to leave.

To his extreme relief, she simply rolled on top of him and stared into his eyes. “You think I’m too coward for this? For you?” Her eyes were angry.

He ran his hand up her arm soothingly. “I think you’re scared that if you let me in I’ll be another thing that doesn’t work out.”

She said nothing. For a moment she seemed horribly fragile, and he was struck with fear. He didn’t know if he could handle this any better than her.

He continued. “You have every right to keep me at arm’s length,” he said. “You know me and you know my job. All I ask is for your full attention when we’re together.”

Her nostrils flared as she took a deep breath, still glaring down at him. “I joined a gardening club while you were gone. I made new friends. My daughter’s visiting next week with the kids, and every second Sunday of the month there’s a meet up called the After Work club. I may be going on a tour of South America with a woman called Lillian, who recently divorced her husband of 40 years because he bored the shit out of her. I am not going to sit around crying because my _honey_ hasn’t called me. Neither am I going to get mushy just because you happen to be fucking me.”

He couldn’t help it, and started to giggle.

“ _Shut up_ ,” she told him, her command wavering. “I am here, with you, right now, and if that isn’t good enough you can fuck off. Up to you.”

She rolled back off him and lay sprawled on the bed with impressive abandon. “It isn’t all a game, James,” she said. “This is me. It’s who I am. And you’re what I like. I no longer expect anything to ‘work out’, but that’s probably because I’m older than you. I’m not about to turn into Mary Sue for the sake of peace. So take me or leave me.”

James was watching her closely. She shot him a charged look and raised an eyebrow. “Literally.”

He watched her closely. She was so damn good at controlling a situation, even when she could barely control herself. She lay there exuding confidence, despite the flicker of fear in her eyes. He suddenly recognised something like his own reflection. He knew just how to reach her.

He leaned in and tenderly held her face, planting a polite kiss on her lips. Just when she thought she’d put the fire out, his eyes glimmered dangerously, and she knew what he was going to do. She knew she was going to let him.

He mounted her again, entering her deeply, covering her body with his. His tongue delved into her mouth as he slammed his hips against her. He repeated the motion and quickly picked up the pace, eliciting a string of guttural cries from her. She pulled him tight, her body flush against his, her neck vulnerable, her eyes drifting closed.

“That’s it, that’s it… _good boy_ ,” she murmured, before lapsing into groans as he pinned her arms above her head, her legs wrapping around his hips. “ _Good boy_.”

It sent a frisson through him; he fucked her and fucked her, and beneath him her face displayed intense bliss. _This isn’t so bad_ , he thought. He moved in to kiss and nip her neck, but when he looked back at her face, she was gazing up at him. Her dilated blue eyes locked with his. There was no act; no sense of forced authority, just the windows to her soul. This time, she didn’t break eye contact. He quickened his movements, staring her out, joining with her like never before, driving each thrust home.

She licked her swollen lips. He wanted to kiss her again, her mouth was so tempting, but nothing was worth breaking this connection. His rutting became wild. Their groans filled the room. They barely blinked. Their faces shared panic, wonder, despair, pleasure, something like pain then something like peace, until finally they cried out together as their bodies shuddered into climax at the same time. She felt him pulsing hot inside her; her own body racked with powerful undulations.

A few minutes later, he opened his eyes. She was looking at him solemnly, breathing deeply. She didn’t look away. He gazed back, feeling for the first time in weeks that he was truly with her.

“I missed you,” she finally murmured, voice husky.

His heart fluttered. He placed his hand on hers, giving it a warm squeeze, and smiled softly at her.

He drifted into a deep, long sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let's just ignore the fact that the driver of the car would totally have sold his story to the Daily Mail...


	4. Even Ground

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They are starting to believe they can, in fact, give each other what they want.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Contains spanking (fairly mild and consensual). Also, fluff.

He stirred to the sound of a newspaper being rustled. Slowly, he became aware of his body, sprawled as he was on his front, pressed against the white Egyptian cotton sheets. He lifted his head and peered blearily at the shape next to him. The room was full of sunlight, and she was absorbed in some article or other, a faint frown displaying disapproval. 

Her eyes flicked to him, her expression remaining the same.

 _That look_ , he thought, as he gazed at her in wonder. He smiled dopily. “Morning,” he said.

“Good morning, OO7,” she said casually, her mouth quirking into a smirk. She returned to the article. “You ought to get up and out. Work to do.”

He pouted and huffed into the sheets, allowing his head to flop back down between his arms. He heard the newspaper being discarded.

“ _James_ ,” she warned. He looked up at her, his eyes twinkling with mischief. She extended her hand and petted him as if he were a cat. An incorrigible cat.

“You were a very naughty boy yesterday,” she said as she stoked his hair, her voice deep. “I want you on your best behaviour today. You have a debriefing to go to.”

He simply gazed back at her fondly.

“Are you going to be good?” she purred.

“No.”

His impertinent tone gave way to a dry chuckle.

Heat rose in her cheeks. She shot him a playfully dangerous look. “Right, young man. Over my knee.”

He tingled with excitement as she patted her lap. It would have been a ridiculous pose otherwise, he thought as he draped himself over her thighs, but the bed made it possible for her stature to support him. And now here he was, lying across her knee like a naughty little boy. He could sense her gleeful grin.

She smacked his bottom sharply and he tensed. Her other hand was gently keeping him in place. He tried to stay still as several more smacks followed, along with some choice words about his attitude.

“Enough is enough!” she told him, laying down the law with her open palm. “You are going to go to work and you are going to be on your best behaviour. You will apologise to Mallory. And if I hear you’ve been lippy, young man, you’ll get a hiding far more severe than this.”

He squirmed dizzily, the spanking a blissful comfort whilst simultaneously smarting like hell. He gasped into the sheets as her slaps came down strong. It was starting to feel like a real punishment as his body started to give in, unable to resist, the tension ebbing away.

She felt him harden against her thigh and gave him one last stinging smack, eliciting a muffled cry. She rubbed his back.

“There, there,” she said softly, her fingers feather-light. He turned his head to look at her, peeping over his shoulder, pupils blown with desire. He rolled his hips against her thighs.

“Oh _James_ ,” she chided with an exasperated sigh. “Up you get.”

She pulled him up so he was sitting beside her, erection bobbing. She licked her lips and retrieved the newspaper, and just when James thought she was seriously going to ignore his condition, her other hand fell on his cock. She squeezed it gently, and without looking away from that morning’s headlines, began to massage the straining organ.

Something about her apparent disinterest sent electricity through him. He slumped back, lazily raising his hips to meet her hand. He glanced at her. She was doing a good job of feigning indifference, but her eyes were not focussed and her lips were parted. She was breathing almost as heavily as him.

She squeezed him tighter and started to jerk him off in earnest, the odd sideways glance and his soft cries dictating her pace. She swallowed, throat dry. “The pound is approaching parity with the euro,” she informed him clinically. “Better get your holiday money now, OO7.”

It was the ‘OO7’ that did it. He came with a shout of surprise, ejaculating copiously all over her hand. She suppressed a snicker.

“Now look what you’ve done,” she said in a bored voice, laying the newspapers down and reaching for a wet wipe. She was pretty impressed, truth be told, by his capacity to be so relentlessly horny. She started to clean them up.

“That was your fault,” said James, his voice low. “And when I get back tonight, you and I are going to have a little conversation, _Olivia_.”

He was deadly sexy, eyes smouldering at her. He sat up. “I know you’re not used to your toys answering back,” he said, taking her hand in his. “But get used to it.”

He kissed the back of her hand submissively while his eyes remained devilishly threatening, then leapt off the bed and into the bathroom.

She heard the shower run. Something like relief coursed through her. He was wrong. She loved it when her toys talked back. It meant she hadn’t broken them.


End file.
